It has been ten years since I last set foot
into a bodice of water.
It’s not that I don’t shower,
or take a bath from time to time.

I used to say I don’t like
to swim. I don’t like
to exercise the power of my arms
connected to my shoulders
connected to my body.
Oh god, my body,

Where to start?
At my toes, guaranteed
to send me straight into a dissociated spree.
Or my fingers, the pull and stretch
of skin over bone.

That same skin
will wrinkle in the pools
of children’s toxins
and old people’s skin patches.

Dentures float around
while I try to tell myself,
it’s okay, no one is looking at you anyway.
Maybe I don’t like swimming,
or maybe I just don’t like the public-
ness of it all.